


Doll (Muñeco - English Version)

by rixton



Series: Doll - Muñeco [1]
Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Kaulitzcest - Freeform, M/M, Toll - Freeform, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rixton/pseuds/rixton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Doll (Muñeco)<br/>By Sarae - all credits go to her<br/>Translated by me (hope I did an alright work)<br/>Thanks to skylamarie97 for the beta ♥</p><p>(First Season) - Introduction</p>
    </blockquote>





	Doll (Muñeco - English Version)

**Author's Note:**

> Doll (Muñeco)  
> By Sarae - all credits go to her  
> Translated by me (hope I did an alright work)  
> Thanks to skylamarie97 for the beta ♥
> 
> (First Season) - Introduction

**_Tom's Point of View_ **

  
September 28, 1.30 a.m., Stuttgart. My return home after a wild night at Black’s wasn’t what I would say pleasant. I was a bit tipsy, or hangover more like, after being two hours in the foulest bathroom ever I could have found in a 20km ratio. I didn’t have any condoms left and my hangover was out of the equation once I had to beat the shit out of Black himself in order to make him forget I had fucked his girlfriend. It wasn’t my fault that he had gotten himself a slut for a girlfriend who sold herself for twenty euros, and neither was the fact that she had been with me for free.

I was thinking of just throwing myself on my bed and sleeping until 3 p.m.,the next day when something very inopportune got in my way. My father had changed the lock of the door and the key I had didn’t work. I knocked on the door a few times until I heard my father’s voice coming through it.

"This is for your own sake, Tom."

I was about to kick the door down, yelling at him to open up the damn door, threatening to kill him if he didn’t, but the door stayed closed. If it hadn’t been for the iron bars on the windows, I would have climbed up to my room and kicked my father’s ass out the house, but I knew it would be an impossible task. And I couldn’t even force the lock on the door because he sure as hell had bolted it.

I kicked the door once more and went to my car, which I loved more than anything or anyone. No one ever had worked their ass off harder than me to get it, not even my father in all his life’s working. True was that I had gotten some of that money making bets as in,  _if I knock this one out, you give me twenty euros_ , or  _if I save you from getting beat up you give me fifty_ , or  _I won’t set your car on fire but you have to give me a hundred_ ,  _I won’t fucking kill you for two hundred_.

 

Street rules. Or more like,  _my_  rules.  
My street, my rules. My city, my dictatorship. My dolls, my game.

 

My clothes, my guitar, my belongings… in the car trunk. My father had kicked me out of the house as if I were a dog.

I knew what he wanted.  Fuck, I did. He had even updated my GPS, looking up Hamburg and its surroundings. He had left a note stuck to the steering wheel, maybe saying how sorry he was and asking me to understand him. I don’t really know, I didn’t read it. I tore it to pieces and threw it in front of the house door, spitting on it.

In that moment, Guetti approached me, limping, with her amputated tail between her legs, giving me a pitful howl.

"You better take her to Andreas’s, you son of a bitch!" I yelled at my father from outside the house, walking to my car again and getting in, lighting up a cigarette and taking it to my lips, starting up the car.

It was absurd having made it to this point because of my social welfare, because of my extremist behaviour, because of my criminal life. Who the fuck cared if I walked around as if I were ready to beat up anyone who dared getting in my way? Who the fuck cared how much I drunk, smoked, or even got high? Who the fuck cared how many times I had sex per a day? Who the fuck cared if I used condoms or not? Who the fuck cared if I beat weaks up, if I got into fights, stole cars, broke stuff, did graffitis or set something on fire? I was a criminal, no one could deny it. So, what? Who cared? My dad? He could play the victim all he wanted, but he didn’t care. My mom? That woman who I did not see since I was four? That one who washed her hands of me? Why would she care now, why would she want to take care of a dropout like me? Why would she and my father get in contact and decide what to do with me after not talking to each other for years? It didn’t make any sense.

Suddenly, I caught myself driving to Hamburg at 130km/h, not wanting to ever come back, venturing out to the unknown, to meet up with my mother and that long lost twin brother of mine who I didn’t remember a thing of. My mother was a lawyer. She made a lot of money out of it and for all I knew, she probably was fan of rules and the law, posh as hell, surrounded by luxury, dressed in all black, with glasses and a Rotter Meyer complex. I was a criminal who spent more time at the police station than at my own house, already with a police record at nineteen and not so much willing to change and become a posh kid, obnoxious like that twin of mine who I didn’t know yet probably was.

It would be so easy. I just had to be myself and they would kick me out of their house in record time. I didn’t bear any hope, no. Actually, I didn’t want to fit into that world of theirs nor anywhere else. I wouldn’t even be able to. And, sincerely, I didn’t give a fuck about it either.

I liked how I was, I liked playing God, I liked fighting, feeling someone’s else blood spattering in my face, feeling pain, seeing it. I also liked the sex to be pure, wild, and hard. I wasn’t interested in being accepted in Hamburg.

Finding a toy to play with while I was there would be great, though. A doll, a pretty doll to play with, to experiment with, to get into trouble with, to enjoy sex and all it took fully.

A doll to make suffer… A doll to break…

Little did I care about who would it be. I didn’t have any kind of preferences, actually any creature with a body made of porcelain and easy to handle could do. Anyone, the closer, the better…

It was just about playing with the most perfect Doll I could find around, no matter who. Anyone…

How could I know that that perfect Doll would be my own twin brother?

But, again: did I really care?

A Doll that would be near me all the time, there it was, waiting for me. Perfect.

Who would have thought? Maybe if it had been a girl, but… no.

The perfect candidate, my twin brother, Bill.

My next Doll.

_Poor Doll…_

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued...


End file.
